


The Watson-Holmes-Friends-Only Christmas Party (Three types of sausage roll)

by okeydokey (LilMissNerdfighter)



Series: Merry Christmas from 221B [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Hamish is wondering how his parents are so immature, John is spoling Sherlock's fun, M/M, Sherlock is scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMissNerdfighter/pseuds/okeydokey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John and Hamish are holding their annual Christmas Party. Naturally, everyone is invited (with the exception of Mycroft, it's friends only)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Watson-Holmes-Friends-Only Christmas Party (Three types of sausage roll)

Hamish straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. It was the night of the annual Watson-Holmes-friends-only-Christmas-party, which meant that he wanted to look his best. After all, his friends were going to be there (well, mostly his parents friends) and he didn’t want to look like one of the Homeless Network. He checked his appearance once more in the mirror and headed downstairs.

‘I don’t understand why we need three different kinds of sausage roll.’ Sherlock swept the mince pie crumbs off his purple shirt, looking completely baffled.

‘It’s in case someone doesn’t like one kind- there’s normal sausage, vegetarian and lamb.’ John stated, checking that the tag had been removed from his new red jumper.

‘The last two aren’t even types of pork!’ protested Sherlock indignantly. He noticed Hamish entering the room, and shot him an exasperated look. ‘Hamish, tell your dad that we do not need three different types of sausage roll.’

‘Father, if he’s bought them, then we might as well eat them. Feed them to Rory- he’ll eat anything.’ Hamish told his father, rolling his eyes at him. It had been a year since the disastrous meeting at the Christmas Fair, and everyone had silently decided to pretend that that conversation hadn’t happened (Rory now lived with his dad, and so there was really no need to even mention his mother).  John laughed, and Sherlock smirked- the last time Rory had visited, he had demolished the most disgusting concoction of fruit juices, milk and tea as a dare, and had deemed it delicious. They knew all too well that Rory would happily devour pretty much anything they gave him.

‘See, Hamish agrees with me.’ John smiled triumphantly, moving the offending sausage rolls to the centre of the table. Sherlock glowered at them and began plotting a way to dispose of them, just to prove to John that they weren’t needed anyway. It wasn’t that he didn’t like sausage rolls, it was just that he was right, and he needed his family to see that.

Just as Sherlock had formulated a plan involving string, his skull and a three litre bottle of lemonade, there was a knock at the door, spoiling his scheme. Mrs Hudson opened the door and escorted the first guests upstairs. Molly entered the room, arm-in-arm with her fiancé, Steve (baker, forty-three, loves Molly more than she loves cats). She beamed at Sherlock and John as they shook Steve’s hand- and they grinned back (Sherlock not even having to try to give her a genuine smile). Molly was _happy_ (the wedding was in March) and seemed to be completely content with her life, and that was all they hope for. She caught sight of Hamish and let out a loud squeal of delight.

‘Hamish! You’ve grown! Come here, let me look at you!’  Molly pulled him into a tight hug, before holding him at arm’s length so she could assess his growth. Hamish sighed- as much as he loved Molly (who he had come to think of as a kind of aunt), he couldn’t bare the comments on his growth. Of course he had grown- she hadn’t seen him for six months (school, her job, Steve and his clubs had got in the way), he didn’t understand why she had to state the obvious. He supressed a second sigh, he supposed that was the Holmes talking. Sometimes, he couldn’t understand how his father was so oblivious to people’s emotions and what was socially acceptable, but sometimes (now, for instance) he understood his father’s thought process perfectly.

He allowed Molly to fuss over him for a little longer (how was school, his friends, the piano playing going?) before slipping away to talk to Mrs Hudson in the corner. They talked quietly in the corner about the weather, her success in her baking competition and the latest plotlines of the soaps she enjoyed (he had googled them beforehand, so he could sound like he knew what she was talking about).He watched from the corner of his eye as Sherlock tried to remove the sausage rolls from the table and as John calmly sabotaged his attempts, Steve and Molly remaining unaware of the battle taking place. There was a loud knock on the door, and Hamish slipped away to greet the next lot of guests, leaving Mrs Hudson discussing baking with Steve.

He pulled the door open, to find Greg, Rory, Arthur and Sarah all congregated on the doorstep. They were huddling together for warmth, their noses turned red by the cold.

‘Finally!’ exclaimed Rory and Arthur in unison, pushing past him and pressing their hands against the radiator. Greg and Sarah were a little more polite about their entrance (their hands had been linked when he had opened the door, explaining why John’s co-worker was even here in the first place). Sarah gave him a hug and Greg shook his hand (it was freezing; they must’ve been standing there for a while).

‘I think the doorbell’s broken,’ Greg told him, as Hamish closed the door. ‘There seems to be a bullet hole through it.’ Hamish shook his head and smiled apologetically at Greg.

‘That’ll be Father; he hasn’t had a case in a while.’

‘What about the one with the shoemaker and the white paint?’ exclaimed Greg.

‘An interesting case.’ Hamish corrected himself. ‘Even I could’ve solved that other one!’

‘You Holmeses, I don’t know what to do with you.’

‘You don’t know what you’d do without us.’ Hamish didn’t bother correcting Greg on the name thing, the meaning was clear enough. Greg threw up his hands in a mixture of exasperation and defeat.

‘You’re right. Now, are we going upstairs or not?’

**

Three hours later and the party was pretty much finished. Sherlock had failed in his attempts to destroy the sausage rolls, and Rory was happily polishing them off in the corner. Arthur was sprawled on the sofa, tossing a snowman stress ball up in the air and struggling to catch it with his left hand. Mrs Hudson was sitting in John’s armchair, and Sherlock and John were on Sherlock’s chair. Steve and Molly had said their goodbyes half an hour beforehand and had disappeared into the night. Hamish had been curled up by the fireplace, reading a new book (Mockingjay), and had only looked up when he had noticed how silent it was.

In that moment, 221B looked like a scene out of a book. The light from the fire bounced warm light around the flat and the tree shone prettily in the corner. There were the parents to one side keeping watch, and the (almost) grandmother to the other talking quietly to John and Sherlock. Even though Rory and Arthur didn’t actually live in 221B, they seemed to fit there, and seemed comfortable. And suddenly, it hit Hamish that maybe this year; everyone might be happy and safe for the entirety of December (which was a first for his family and friends).

It was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.


End file.
